


Something to Hope For

by brazenlyunabashedlyshamelessly



Series: Reunion [1]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-28
Updated: 2015-04-28
Packaged: 2018-03-26 05:01:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3838057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brazenlyunabashedlyshamelessly/pseuds/brazenlyunabashedlyshamelessly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ian talks to Mickey for the first time in months.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Something to Hope For

Ian was tired. It'd been a long day. Months had passed, and getting the right balance of meds had been a bitch. Up one day, flat the next; it was exhausting. He was staring at the table blankly while Liam busied himself colouring in.

"Right, I gotta get to work," Fiona told him as she came down the stairs to the kitchen. "You gonna be okay?" 

There'd been a lot of questions like that since he'd gotten home. 

" _How're you feelin'?_ "

" _D'you need anythin'?_ "

" _You seem a little off. Everythin' okay?_ "

God knew he appreciated their concern, but some days it made him wish he hadn't come back; he felt suffocated... Swallowing back his frustration, Ian spoke in an even voice. 

"I'm good. Sean still bein' an ass?"

Fiona rolled her eyes. Ever since she's kicked Gus to the curb, and told Sean that it wasn't gonna happen, their boss had been even more of a passive/aggressive douche than usual. Ian wondered what she’d ever seen in that guy.

"Yup. But I guess that's what happens when you gotta make nice with your own hand every night, right?"

Smiling slightly at his sister's snarky reply, Ian waited until he heard the front door close before slumping down into his seat. Debbie and Carl were out, doing whatever it was they did nowadays--Ian hoped it wasn't selling drugs or getting pregnant--and that had left him babysitting Liam. 

The kid stared across the kitchen table at him. 

"Looks like it's just you an' me, huh?" Ian said. "What you wanna do?"

Liam thought about it for a moment. 

"I wanna watch Walking Dead!" he finally announced.

Whoa. Okay, that wasn't going to happen. Wracking his brains for something age appropriate, but still sort of exciting, Ian came up blank. 

"Shit," he muttered under his breath. In a desperately bright tone, he added, "How 'bout Scooby Doo?"

"It's boring," Liam complained.

"What? No way. C'mon, we'll make it exciting," Ian said, trying to inject some more enthusiasm into his voice in the hopes of convincing his baby brother.

Turned out, Liam had been right: it was boring.

The kid barely made it through ten minutes. Letting out an impatient sigh, Liam headed up to his room, pausing only long enough to give Ian a disgusted look.

“Wait a minute, buddy, maybe we can find somethin’ else,” Ian called as Liam stomped upstairs. Well, as much as a five year old could stomp.

Left alone with Scooby and the gang chasing after some inept old white guy, Ian felt himself deflating again. With nothing else to do, Ian reached for his phone. He spent a few minutes scrolling through a couple of the text messages he’d gotten from Mandy since she’d left Indiana for Ohio. She was doing good there, and he smiled at the latest selfie she’d sent.

Her hair was black again, her smile genuine in a way he hadn’t seen in months. Nostalgic, Ian froze when he came across a picture of him and Mickey.

It had been taken a few weeks after the start of summer. They were both smiling, although Ian remembered the set upon expression on Mickey’s face at his insistence that they take the selfie; those awful weeks where Ian couldn’t get out of bed were a bad memory, and… _fuck_ , they’d been so happy.

That was all over now.

Not stopping to think, Ian found Mickey’s number and dialed.

Ringing once, twice, he was just about to hang up when he heard that achingly familiar voice.

“Hello?”

Breath catching, Ian struggled to open his mouth. _Jesus, it’d been too long._ Memories of them holding each other, laughing, _happy_ , crashed over him.

“Hey, Mick,” he said at last.

There was a long silence, and Ian checked his cell to see if Mickey had hung up. Half considered doing it himself.

“Hi.”

 _Fuck, this was weird._ Not even in the days when they’d first started fucking had things been so awkward between them.

“I-I’m sorry,” Ian stammered after a minute. “I sh-shouldn’t have… I’m sorry.”

He was just about to hang up when he heard Mickey’s voice again.

“Ian, hold up. You-you okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I was just…” Ian paused. Took a deep breath. “How you been?”

“Good, good... You?”

“I’m okay.”

Neither of them spoke for a while, and a goodbye was on the tip of his tongue. Mickey spoke before Ian could force the words out.

“We, uh, we had a party for Yev."

The words brought an involuntary smile to Ian’s lips. Apart from Mickey, the chubby baby with his father’s bright blue eyes was what he’d missed most about living in the Milkovich house.

“Yeah? He have fun?”

“Nuh, man. Don't think he liked any of the stuff we bought him, the little shit.” Despite his gruff words, there was affection in his voice. Ian laughed, and it sounded strange coming from his throat; he felt a pang that he’d missed Mickey bonding with his son.

More silence. There was still so much Ian wanted to ask, but couldn't find the words. Deciding to spare them both the agony of more uncomfortable small talk, he finally whispered, "Bye, Mick," before hanging up.

It hurt more than he'd expected it to. Trying to ignore the pain tearing through his chest, Ian reminded himself that it was for the best.

Mickey sounded, if not happy, then at least... okay. Better than he would've been if Ian were still around.

_Time, that's all he needed. Just a little bit more time._

Maybe then it wouldn't hurt so much.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It'd been almost a week since he'd called Mickey. In that time, Ian had gone through the motions. He'd done his best to work his way back into Liam's good graces; helped Carl with his homework; begged Debbie not to get sidetracked by boys.

There was also comfort to be found in routine. Every morning, he went for a run. Most days he didn't feel like it, but he did it anyway. Depending on when his shift started, Ian would either work through the breakfast and lunch rush, or he'd stay at home to tidy up the house. Fiona would remind him that he wasn't their maid, but he ignored her. He liked to keep busy.

Nights were the worst. There were times where the meds would knock him out early, and the accompanying claustrophobia of not even being able to control when he went to sleep made him want to flush the fucking things.

Only the memories of what had happened without them kept Ian from following through.

Walking home late one afternoon, Ian felt his phone vibrating in his pocket. He wondered who'd be calling him; nobody ever did anymore. Lip was in college, screwing his professor, and Ian had just seen Fiona on his way out of the diner.

Hope fluttered in his chest. _Maybe it was Mandy._

He pulled out his phone, and checked the caller ID.

**MICK**

Steps faltering, all Ian could do was stare at the screen. Why would Mickey be calling him.

In a sudden flurry of panic, Ian couldn't answer the phone fast enough. Fingers clumsy, he struggled to answer.

"Hi," he said, voice slightly higher than normal.

_Please, let Mickey still be there._

"Uh, hey. Wasn't sure you were gonna answer."

"Yeah, sorry. I-It took me a minute to get it outta my pocket," Ian said lamely.

"No worries."

Ian kept quiet, waiting for Mickey to explain why he'd called. The silence stretched, bordering on that same awkwardness from the other night.

Clearing his throat, Mickey finally spoke.

"So... I dunno if you've talked to Mandy lately, but..." He drew in a shaky breath. His next words were coated with relief. "She's comin' back soon. Says she misses the weather."

"Really?" For the first time in too long to think about, excitement stirred inside Ian. "Mandy's comin' home? When?"

"Week or two. She told me to clear the shit outta her room."

"That's really great, Mick," he said quietly.

"Yeah. An'...' y'know, she'll wanna see you. She-she probably misses you a lot."

"I miss her, too."

Ian wondered if they were still talking about Mandy. Uncertain, Ian quickly brought their conversation to a halt.

"Take care of yourself," he said. "I'll see you 'round, maybe."

He hung up.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The next day, Ian's phone rang again. It felt like his heart had leapt into his throat as he felt the vibration in his pocket.

 _Probably just Fi_ , he told himself. _Or Sean, asking him to cover one of the other dishwasher's shifts._

Not waiting to see who was calling, Ian hurriedly answered.

"Hello?"

"Hey."

Ian released a deep breath. The relief at hearing Mickey's voice again was intense. To pretend otherwise would mean lying to himself, and he was trying not to do that anymore. He hated not being able to talk to Mickey everyday.

Still, he had to ask.

"Why you callin', Mick?"

A long silence. Ian didn't pull the phone away to check if Mickey was still there; somehow he _knew_ that the other man wasn't going to hang up.

"I miss you."

Those stark words had Ian swallowing hard.

"Why? I was a dick to you."

"Yeah, you were," Mickey agreed. "Don't change anythin', though."

Now Ian was the one responsible for the quiet this time. He felt a mixture of guilt and elation. Even after the way he'd fucked up, Mickey still wanted him.

_What if he fucked up again?_

"You-you wanna meet up?" Mickey asked, apparently unable to wait for Ian to respond.

"Yeah, that'd be great," Ian replied before he could stop himself.

"Can I come over to your place? Where are you?"

"I just finished work," Ian told him. "I should be home in about fifteen minutes."

"I'll meet you there."

Before Ian could think to argue, Mickey hung up.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Walking quickly, Ian only spotted Mickey when he was at the gate. Coming to an abrupt halt, all he could do was stare.

Mickey was seated on the front steps, taking a deep drag from a cigarette; one leg was twitching impatiently, and his stare was fixed firmly on the ground. Seeming to sense Ian's presence, Mickey looked up.

Their eyes met and, hokey as it sounded, Ian swore he felt the earth tilt. That familiar gaze, that unwavering devotion, it was all still there.

They was still so much they had to talk about. So much Ian had to apologise for, to explain.

_But Mickey still loved him._

One step forward, another, and then another until Ian was right right in front of him. Not saying a word, he sat next to Mickey on the step.

They sat there for a long minute, neither of them looking at each other, or saying a word. Then, Ian started in surprise as he felt a tentative touch on the back of his hand.

Tattooed hands--hands that had so often been clenched in anger--were gentle on his.

Rubbing his thumb comfortingly over Ian's hand, Mickey seemed content to sit there in silence for as long as Ian needed it.


End file.
